


Drowning

by writtenFIRES



Series: Something Wicked This Way Comes [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Blood, Demonic Possession, Drowning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Horror, Imprisonment, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sadism, Waterboarding, just in a different way, this one's a lot less nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenFIRES/pseuds/writtenFIRES
Summary: Mark really fucking hates the ocean.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Again, based off the fanart and fanfiction done by the lovely [caustic-synishade](http://caustic-synishade.tumblr.com/)! Go check them out if you haven't yet, they even made a work [based off part one of this series!](http://caustic-synishade.tumblr.com/post/156197049862/the-boys-caught-a-little-bunny-inspired-by-this) It's utterly amazing and a must see if you enjoyed the last fic.

When Mark woke, it was to a throbbing leg and an equally pounding head. He swore he could feel the two parts of his body pulse in perfect sync with his steady heartbeat; drumming away in his ears. His mouth, though no longer crammed with anything, still felt thick and dry as if it was stuffed with cotton. When he tried to work his jaw and lick at his lips, he tasted a hint of iron, but Mark didn’t recall bleeding from his mouth at all.

A weak groan, scarcely louder than a breath, flitted out of his dry throat as he made an attempt at blinking his eyes open. One of them was loosely glued shut by something thin and crusty, and as he tried to wipe at the substance he belatedly realized he’d been restrained. Instantly, Mark’s heart leaped up into his throat and he tugged at the straps pinning his wrists to some kind of wooden surface. Blinking more rapidly, he lifted his head and craned his neck in some effort to view his latest predicament. Blurred vision in a dim room could only provide so much; his glasses were missing.

Mark’s surroundings were an utter mystery of dark greys and faded blacks, but he could see his body had been laid out on some kind of table. He felt more than saw the fact it carried a subtle slope with his feet slightly higher than where his head would rest. Like his wrists, his ankles had been strapped down to a wooden bar at that end of the table. He’d barely shifted to test the bindings when white hot agony shot up his leg and he gasped.

 _The bear trap._ Mark squinted, and he could see it then; large swatches of dark, dark crimson coating the legs of his jeans and his white sneakers. Mark whimpered and resisted the urge to gag. There was a higher sensation of constraint on his injured leg, but Mark couldn’t make out any differences between the two appendages. Maybe they’d actually bandaged the wound beneath his jeans? If so, Mark could only assume it was to keep him alive.

Returning his attention to the straps on his wrists, Mark noticed they looked very much like simple leather belts. The table he was stretched out on hardly seemed like something a person could just walk into a store and buy, so maybe those _things_ that had taken control of his friends had built it? Or had Tyler and Ethan built it before that, to serve as some part of their grand joke for his punishment? If that was the case, Mark had the distinct feeling they wouldn’t be using it for the same purposes now. In fact, Mark could think of _several_ ways his position could be taken advantage of and none of them were good.

Tugging and twisting at the belts proved fruitless, however, and Mark’s panic was steadily rising. They’d used a damn _bear trap_ on him; who knew what they’d think of next??

Mark didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps. Either the sound of his own labored breathing was too loud, or they were just that good at masking their presence. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Without warning, a cloth was laid over Mark’s forehead and eyes. It didn’t hurt, but the fright it gave Mark set him to jolting against the table with a startled cry. Immediately, his leg throbbed wildly in protest and he choked on a heaving sob. His actions were reward with a sharp backhand from above.

_“So loooouuuud, Markimoo! Maybe we should’ve left the gag in. We haven’t even done anything yet, and here you are screaming loud enough to disturb all the neighbors! Well… if we had any.”_

Ethan’s giggles clawed at Mark’s ears and it sounded like the younger man was hovering eagerly over him from just behind his head. Cheek stinging and ears ringing, Mark whimpered and attempted to shake the cloth away from his face. Being unable to _see_ his attackers made the entire situation all the more terrifying.

_“Ah, ah, ah! No peeking! You never were very good at following the rules, were you Mark? Maybe that’s why you scored so low on that silly test, hmmm~? If only you’d listen a little! But then, we get to have so much more_ **_fun_ ** _when you decide to give us a hard time….”_

Instead of another slap, there were hands patting teasingly at his cheeks and Mark grimaced at the renewed sting. He squirmed and wiggled; still tugging at his restraints. “Let go of me! Don’t touch me! J-just let me go!! Whatever the Hell you assholes are, just let them go and get the fuck out of here! I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is, I’m not gonna give it to you! You hear me?? You’re not getting anything from me, and I-I’m not scared, so… so fuck off! Fuck off right back to the seventh fiery ring of Satan’s asshole where you came fro-” Water, ice cold, splashed across Mark’s face and shoulders. Some poured into his mouth and trickled down his throat mid-word, causing him to gasp and cough as his bold statements were lost. The cloth on his face was immediately soaked through.

_“Y’hear that, Tyyyyler? He says he isn’t_ **_scared_ ** _of us. He says he won’t give us what we want!”_

**“Too bad for him it’s not about** **_giving._ ** **All we gotta do is take. Again, he talks too much, but this technique’s more effective if his mouth’s not blocked. You mind?”**

Mark, still sputtering a bit, vaguely felt Ethan apply more cloth to his face. The edge of this one barely hung over the tip of his nose and he wheezed as he listened to the subtle pitter-patter of water dripping from his hair. Opening his mouth to continue his protests, Mark was met with another faceful of water. He choked and gagged, attempting to turn his head to the side, but knobby fingers grasped at either side of his face. Ethan held Mark’s head still with more strength than the young man had ever mustered and it was about that moment in time Mark knew he was in serious trouble.

 _“Make sure to water your Markimoo several times a day to see him grow big and strong! Haha well, strong anyway. Still looks kinda stunted to me. I think he needs some more water, Tyler!!”_ __  
__  
Rather than provide a verbal response, Mark found himself getting doused with yet another wave of water. This time, before he could cough out a ragged exhale, a third cloth was applied to his face. This one covered up his nose and mouth entirely; muffling his shout of surprise and instinctual fear. Instantly, he struggled anew but the hands that had returned to the sides of his head gripped like a vice. All he could do was squirm as more water soaked through the final layer of cloth and made breathing exponentially more difficult.

**“Now’s the fun part. Make sure to keep him still.”**

_“How long is this gonna take? I can’t even see how scared he looks!”_

**“Until I feel like we’ve gotten our point across. Shut up. You’ll get to have plenty of fun with him later. Now hold him still.”**

Ethan’s pitchy huff was lost on Mark as he tried his best to breathe. The wet cloth kept getting sucked up his nose and into his mouth; letting in minimal amounts of oxygen and trapping a majority of whatever he tried to expel. His fists had clenched and his biceps bulged as he fought against his restraints, but they refused to budge even an inch. Mark’s horror had reached a peak as he understood exactly what was going on.

It was then the real torture began. Mark felt it; the steady stream of water being poured patiently onto his covered face. It remained perfectly consistent as the seconds ticked by. There were no sudden bursts or ebbs in the flow, just constant water soaking into the cloth and cascading down over Mark’s head. He could hear it pouring onto the floor past his choked heaves and gagging.

Mark couldn’t see, couldn’t smell anything, could taste nothing but the stale water running through the cloth like a sieve and his own mucus as he tried to cough and spit. The water was still ice cold and Mark could already feel himself starting to shiver as it soaked into the upper half of his shirt. He strained and arched off the table and let loose a garbled scream of fearful frustration, but Ethan’s fingers never let up. They dug into his skin through the cloth like little needles until the stream finally stopped. Only then did they release Mark’s face to tug back the cloth covering his mouth.

Mark immediately sputtered and gasped as oxygen attempted to crash its way into his lungs. One or two spurts of stagnant water trickled up over his lips and chin but he’d barely gotten to four breaths before the cloth was being cruelly replaced. His release cut-off, Mark screamed again but there was too much water clogging up his mouth and sinuses. It came out a gargling mess that was half-muffled by the cloth over his face.

If he strained his ears, he could hear the two monsters laughing.

The stream started up again and Mark gagged on a sob. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning. Mark felt like he was caught up in the middle of the swirling mass of the ocean with no land in sight; no life preserver to be found. Over and over the waves sucked him under into the darkened depths until there was more water in his lungs than air. Until he forgot which way was up and which way was down, with icy needles carving rivulets down his face and echoes rebounding in his ears. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe.

The cloth was lifted again. Mark’s body acted on instinct; he didn’t even have a chance to supply a command. His mouth gaped open like a fish as he tried to breathe. More spouts of water trickled from the corners of his mouth but it wasn’t enough; it was _never_ enough. The cloth was replaced, and again Mark gurgled up a scream and thrashed and cried. He was going to drown. He didn’t want to die.

**“See? This is fun. Look at him wiggle like a fish. It’s pathetic. He thinks he’s dying.”**

_“Okaaay, but! We could make him_ **_really_ ** _think he’s dying if we just-”_

**“Later. Right now is water torture time. Try to contain yourself.”**

_“Hmph. Fine. Maaaaarkimoo~ Oh Maaaaarkimooo~ Can you hear me, Mark? Are you still in there? What’s it feel like, hmm? To be drowning when you’re not even in the water? We know how scared you are of the ocean. Too bad it’s not around here, or we could have some_ **_real_ ** _fun…. Imagine dunking him down into the surf over, and over, and over, and_ **_over_ ** _….”_

**“Ethan? Shut up.”**

Mark gasped and sputtered as the cloth was removed again. Wet, ragged sobs joined his desperate inhales but if his tormentors paid them any mind at all, it was only to savor the sound of them. Mark wasn’t certain how long the torture went on. Time was nothing; breathing was futile. He was trapped in a perpetual panic with the sweet release of death never taking that final step. When at last the cloth was removed and not immediately settled back over his face, Mark was very close to passing out. He didn’t even struggle or gasp anymore. He sucked in weak breaths and emitted tiny wheezes as his head was allowed to loll to the side. The water that had been trapped behind his nose eased back down to flow freely from his mouth and nose. He managed a single cough.

_“You think he’s gonna die?”_

**“If I wanted him dead, he wouldn’t be breathing anymore.”**

Mark, finally able to get a bit of air into his lungs, finally began to cough more steadily. Water welled up to splash from his lips to the floor as he choked and heaved on pure bodily reflex. His mind was an addled, half-conscious mess and it showed as he readily flopped back into his previous position. Still wheezing, with drooling dripping from the corner of his mouth, Mark’s hands had long unclenched from exhaustion. The pounding had returned to his head as a dull ache that pressed against the back of his eyes and ground along the curve of his temple. Any lingering consciousness he’d grasped onto was winking out as he barely caught the sound of retreating footsteps.

**“Let’s let him marinate in that for a while.”**

_“Ooooh, a marinade! Now we’re talking! Let’s put him on a spit roast next, Tyler!!”_  
  
**“Maybe. Have to find one big enough.”**

**Author's Note:**

> I had to research actual waterboarding for this. Please don't come after me CIA, I swear I'm not a bad person.


End file.
